


Redeeming Ransom

by enemy2lover



Category: Knives Out (2019)
Genre: Breasts, Enemies to Lovers, Enemy Lovers, Erections, F/M, Fondling, Groping, Masturbation, My First Smut, Porn With Plot, Sex Toys, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22604914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemy2lover/pseuds/enemy2lover
Summary: *** Spoilers Ahead ***Taking place three years after the end of Knives Out, Marta Cabrera is struggling to figure out what to do with her life now that she has everything she could ever need except a purpose.  She's always cared about others, about healing those in need, but no one seems to live up to her relationship with Harlan.  Of course, there's always the man that Harlan himself claimed to be just like him, his grandson, Ransom Drysdale.  When Marta learns that Ransom will be up for probation, she decides her next patient may just be the man who tried to kill her.
Relationships: Marta Cabrera & Ransom Drysdale, Marta Cabrera/Ransom Drysdale
Comments: 93
Kudos: 295





	1. A Game of Go

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for giving this a shot. I love these two and though Ransom is a complete asshole, I adore enemies to lovers stories (hence the unimaginative user name) and these two are perfect for that. That being said, I write original stories elsewhere and I'm using fan fiction to relieve some writer's block and hopefully get over my fear of writing sex scenes. This story is meant to be porn with a plot. Sorry if it's terrible. I'm trying to improve :(
> 
> Also, obviously I do not own any characters or story elements or whatever from the movie Knives Out.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Marta clutched the travel sized Go board to her chest, her shoulders hunching as she bit her lip and glanced around the sterile white room.

What was she doing here? She could have been back at the Thrombey Mansion, quietly reading a book with Harlan’s dogs, Cloak and Dagger, at her feet.

She shook her heard, scattering her thoughts. No, it wasn’t the Thrombey Mansion and they weren’t Harlan’s dogs. It was all hers now. The money, the publishing house, the estate, all of it was hers.

It had been three years since Harlan Thrombey died, yet she still hadn’t quite accepted it. For a time she didn’t even live in the house. Too many memories and even more paparazzi. That only lasted a couple months, though. Some of the Thrombeys took it upon themselves to either reclaim the house in her absence or burn it to the ground if they couldn’t have it. After one particularly close call involving a drunk Walt and several tanks of kerosene, Marta decided the only way to protect Harlan’s memory was to live in the mansion he had bequeathed to her. She knew she should have found all of it an amazing gift, but instead each day felt like a curse.

“I wrote to you,” she answered, peeling her eyes away from a neighboring table where a man, who had more tattoos than skin, spoke with a teary-eyed woman. “I said I wanted to talk with you and see how you were doing.”

“That explains shit.”

Marta looked at the man across from her from the side of her eye, unable to find the strength needed to encounter him directly. She’d been preparing for this meeting for months, writing him letter after letter with no response. She thought she would have at least gotten a cocky, curse laden message back, telling her to fuck off or something a bit more graphic, but he had been oddly silent. She never knew him to be shy about how he was feeling. If she’d learned anything in her years with Harlan, it was that his grandson, Hugh Ransom Drysdale, had no fear, no filter, and no regrets.

“Um, well, I guess I wanted to talk about…”

“Don’t throw up in here,” Ransom responded with a sigh, rolling his eyes. “I don’t need you evacuating the entire visiting room.”

“You-you’re worried about ruining their visitation hour?”

Maybe she was wrong to be concerned. Maybe his time in prison was doing him some good. Sure he might still be rough around the edges, but the Ransom she knew wouldn’t have given a shit if she caused any discomfort for others so long as he didn’t get hit with any of the vomit.

“I don’t care about these assholes,” he snapped with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I just don’t need to give anyone a reason to try and beat my ass for ruining their precious visitation time.”

From the looks of it, Marta thought Ransom’s mouth had already earned him a few violent responses. After he leaned back and crossed his thick arms over his broad chest, she got a better view of the discolored skin peeking out from beneath his sleeve and darkening his knuckles. Many of the spots, she noted, were yellow with age, but she caught sight of one purple sphere that couldn’t have been more than a couple days old.

Not that she condoned violence, particularly when the subject of that violence happened to be a man convicted of attempted murder and voluntary manslaughter, but she took some comfort in the fact Ransom looked like he could take care of himself. Not that Marta could distinctly remember how Ransom’s physique looked before imprisonment given he penchant for bulky sweaters, but his muscles looked significantly larger than before, rendering the once petulant prep into a real physical threat.

“Do you get in fights a lot?”

“Why do you fucking care? Why are you here, Marta?”

She knew why she was here, she just didn’t understand it, and she certainly didn’t think expressing her reasons to Ransom was the best idea.

The thing was, for the first year after Harlan’s death and Fran’s murder, Marta made an honest attempt at running the publishing company. However, it didn’t take long to realize it was well beyond her comprehension. She wasn’t trained for it and she, frankly, wasn’t interested in it. So she remained the chairwoman of the board with a new president installed in the void Walt’s departure had left. She got final say on most major decisions, but otherwise, she allowed the company to run itself, while she searched for some purpose in this new life.

Eventually, she fell back on being a nurse, but she always ended up disappointed with the connections she formed with her clients. Either the patients were unable to get over her status as the new hot heiress in Boston or she couldn’t get past the fact that they just weren’t Harlan.

And that’s what she wanted. She missed the easy friendship she had with him. He was strange, blunt, and cocksure, but with each day, she warmed him a little bit more and softened his rougher edges. A part of her felt like she really was the source of the Thrombey family’s miseries. Had she not come into the man’s life and rounded him out, he may not have discovered the mess his family had become. He may not have removed them from his will. And he may not have spurned his willful grandson into a self-destructive spiral that cost Fran her life and almost took Marta’s. And as she reflected on that she understood what Harlan had said on the night of his death,

“There’s so much me in that kid. Confident, stupid, I dunno. Protected. Playing life like a game without consequence, till you can’t tell the difference between a stage prop and a real knife.”

Marta realized she needed to be a healer. That’s what she was good at and Ransom, well, he needed to be healed.

“I thought maybe we could play Go,” she said, placing the folded board on to the table.

“You came all the way out here, just to play Go?” He watched her with a dead expression in his blue eyes. They were a lot darker than she remembered, but that may have been due to the fact all of his features had darkened. His cheeks, chin, and neck were covered in unkempt stubble, while his skin looked dull and dingy. His brown hair which had always been swept back with gel, was now loose and free, the dark strands brushing the tips of his long lashes.

“Yes,” she responded only to feel the tell tale burn rising up her throat. She swallowed hard and took a quick breath as she stumbled with her words. “And No. I wanted to play Go because I miss playing it with Harlan and I know how much you two would play. Despite that, we have never played together. So I wanted to play and, and, see how you were doing.”

She busied her hands by unfolding the board and withdrawing the stones that were hiding inside.

“I’ll play,” he said, his gaze hard and searching as she failed to meet his eyes. “But, I want to wait to see if you throw up before I believe any bull shit about caring how I’m doing. I believe I almost murdered you after all.”

“You didn’t get anywhere close to murdering me,” she responded without even thinking through her words. “If you hadn’t been so full of yourself you would have noticed that knife was nowhere near heavy enough to be a proper blade.”

“Hmph,” he huffed, watching her small hands make quick work with dispersing the stones. “Fine, let’s just play.”

With a grateful sigh, Marta’s muscles relaxed and they proceeded with their game in silence.

She had started this journey the moment Benoit warned her several months ago that Ransom would be getting a parole hearing. She was uncertain of her goals when she started writing letters in an attempt to see where his mind was at. All she knew was that the justice system was preparing Ransom for a slice of freedom, but she was uncertain if it had properly prepared the world for his return. However, when she saw him walk into the room with his steely eyes and rough demeanor, her motivations became clearer. And when she saw how fast and fierce he snapped his stones on to the board, his mannerisms so like Harlan’s that for a moment she forgot who she was playing, she knew what her steps would be come the hearing in a couple weeks.

“Fuck,” growled Ransom, who knocked the board off the table.

“Drysdale,” barked a guard. “Pick that shit up, your visitation time is over.”

“Yeah, yeah,” replied the angry young man, who had only grown rougher during his three years in prison.

“Here, you got your game,” he said, slamming the folded back back on to the table. He then placed one hand on the arm rest of her chair and one hand on the edge of the table so that he leered over her, his thick, hard frame threatening to crush her. “Now, get the fuck out of my life.”

“Drysdale, I’m warning you!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” He popped up from his hunched position and made his way to the door, leaving Marta shivering and small within his shadow. She knew what she needed to do, but he sure wasn’t going to make it easy on her.


	2. Muse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the inmates noticed Marta and want Ransom to describe her intimately...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay here's where the actual smuttiness begins. Starting off slow, but I imagine this story will take awhile so it will keep ramping up as the chapters go on. Hopefully...  
> ********************

“Hey, Polo, word is you have a hot little girlfriend.”

“Don’t call me that,” he growled. Ransom Drysdale had taken on many names during his three years. Trust Fund made its rounds early on. However, once it became clear that his dad lost everything in the divorce and that his mom had little interest in associating with either of them as she rebranded her business, the yard realized he wasn’t as rich as they first thought he was. After that, there was Country Club, which was eventually shortened to Country. However, since he was a proud Bostonian, that moniker didn’t stick for long. After a few other false starts, Polo had become popular because apparently he ran around in polo shirts or played water polo or some other rich boy shit.

“I hear she’s a little mousy, but Dig said she was full blooded Latina. No doubt she’s hiding some fire.” The shorter man, who went by the name Checkers, paused as the young Drysdale reached up and took hold of a pull up bar. “Those are the best you know. The ones that act all quiet, but underneath they’re a fucking fox.”

“Go away,” said Ransom with a grunt as he lifted his chin up over the bar and slowly lowered himself again for another rep.

“Nah, nah, come on man, you have to let us have something,” said Checkers, who had now been joined by two much larger inmates. “You’ve been a boring pain in the ass since you got on this block and you are not holding out on us the moment you suddenly have something interesting. Give us something to think about at night. What size are her tits?”

“Eat shit.” Ransom dropped down from the bar and gave his arms a shake, his muscles twitching from the exertion.

“What? More of an ass man?” he asked with a shrug. “She do anal?”

“Fuck if I know.” Ransom felt his muscles flex, their hunger for release left dissatisfied after only a few reps on the bar. Checkers was looking for a fight, they always were. Early on, he became painfully aware that his finely tuned physique was perfect for looking good at soirees, but useless in brawls. He had to take a few losses, but that only spurned him on. He hated losing, unfortunately, the rest of the block hated being beat by someone that lived off a silver spoon. Thankfully, punishment for getting into a fight was less severe for the victim. The initiator, however, often had various privileges taken away or if the guard was in a particularly surly mood, the offender got solitary. Checkers and his grunts wouldn’t throw the first blow, but they would do everything they could to get him to start the fight.

“Guess you two aren’t that close then,” said the shorter man as his hand rubbed his scruffy chin. “Well, I guess that seals it. One of my boys is getting out next week and he says your girl was one fine piece of ass. He might just have to stop by and give her a visit. Keep her warm at night since you aren’t interested.”

“Good luck finding her when all you know is she’s mousy and Hispanic.” Ransom rolled his eyes and headed over to the free weights since Checkers had made the bar unpleasant.

“Oh, I don’t know, seems safe to guess you was talking to Marta Cabrera. All that money and power for such a small woman. She needs a nice strong man to keep her…”

Without thinking, without so much as considering why he was doing it, Ransom drew back his arm and slammed a fist straight into Checkers’ teeth. Blood spattered the concrete as a tooth fell to the ground. Checkers proceeded to slur out a colorful line of obscenities, but Ransom didn’t hear any of them. He was instead busy with the two grunts that had descended upon him and proceeded to make quick work of smashing his ribs. Ransom kicked out, landing a solid blow against once of their groins, while his hand reached up and grabbed hold of the other’s ear, giving it a sharp pull and sending the man twisting. With one writhing on the ground, Ransom tussled with the other, jabbing and pulling wherever he could. Around him a circle was made and whistles were blown by the guards. Ransom knew he needed to get on the ground and face his punishment, but when he felt the hand of the other thug on his shoulder, he knew he needed to get the last punch in. So he grabbed the wrist and pulled the man forward, before swinging his fist and landing a solid blow against his temple.

“Drysdale!”

Ransom froze in place, discovering the man he had just assaulted was far smaller than the one that still grabbed his aching crotch.

“Solitary, Drysdale!” howled the guard, who floundered upon his feat after a blow to his head. “And you can be damn sure this incident will be front and center in your probation review!”

A quick walk through the block and he was set up in a new cozy cell without a single window to add some life to the tiny, dank room. The slammed the door before telling him how long he would be in solitary. Not that Ransom minded. He was almost grateful for the break from all the other prisoners.

Why did he throw that punch though? He didn’t give a shit about Marta, right?

 _It’s her own damn fault_ , he thought. _What was she thinking walking into a place full of vile, horny men looking like she might collapse if one of them even looked at her._

He had to admit though, there was something different about her since the last time he saw her at his trial. Her deep brown eyes were a bit brighter, her hair a bit glossier, and her skin a bit fresher. Money had done her well while imprisonment had left him ragged. She had even upgraded her wardrobe, although she still had an inclination towards lots of layers. But, that didn’t change the fact her clothes were now more tailored so that her petite body actually had a shape. He tried to remember what exactly that shape was, how much of a curve did her chest have, and how did her pants hug her hips.

When was the last time, he wondered as he leaned back, against the cold metal slab that served as the confinement cell’s bed. _When was the last time Marta served as my muse?_

 _What was she wearing_ , he questioned while his hand slid down his stomach in search of his waistband. _There was that chunky cardigan, but I think she had a floral blouse with a vest over top._

He told himself he was just trying to imagine what shape a mouse like Marta had, that the vision of her shrugging off her cardigan with a playful smile before pulling off her vest, was just an exercise in spatial memory. Of course, he might as well make the most of his time alone while he had it. Slipping his hand beneath the band of his pants and briefs, his fingertips found his cock mid salute. He ran his fingers along his shaft, his touch gentle since he knew that’s just how she would have done it.

Next he pictured her lifting her sweater vest over her head, the rough touch of the woolen fabric latching onto her blouse, tugging it up along the way so the soft patch of her belly’s skin peeked out. Tossing the vest aside, she began work on unbuttoning her blouse.

His strokes increased as the edge of a lacy black bra peeked out from beneath her shirt. He grunted once he caught a glimpse of the curvature of her breast below her collarbone. They weren’t large, but they looked pert and round. He figured they would be a healthy handful, and would have just the right firmness.

She reached down to unbutton her khakis, a gasp of pleasure exiting his pink lips as her fingers grazed the front of her lace panties.

Ransom bucked his hips, his erection growing within his tightening grip. His skin burned with the friction of his quickening pace, but as his mind conjured up the sight of Marta freeing her hair so that her dark locks curtained her face and complimented the black of her matching underwear, a drop of precum formed upon his swollen head and he used the slick liquid to lubricate his thick member.

Next, she stared into Ransom’s gaze with a mischievous rise of her brow and curl of her lips. One hand rose up to slide a perfect breast from the cup her bra, her fingers twisting and pulling her hardened nipple. Another gasp overtook her, but it wasn’t until her other hand found its way to her clit that her eyes fluttered and her head rolled back in ecstasy. With her arms wrapped around herself, her fingers circling, rubbing, and pumping with hunger, Ransom found himself brimming with desire, veins bulging and his hand slick with the eager juices urging him to release. He just needed a little more, just enough to push him over the edge.

“Do it, Ransom.” His dream Marta begged, her lip pouting. “Fuck me, please.”

With a roar, he gave his cock one last thrust before rolling off the bed and diving towards the small toilet. He didn’t quite aim for the bowl, but at least the splatter of thick white was on the toilet seat and not his jumpsuit.

After some clean up of both himself and the toilet, he went back to the stiff bed and drifted off to sleep, hopeful that Marta might make a return appearance.


	3. A New Prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the day of Ransom's probation hearing and Marta decides it's time to take a leap of faith...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I'm a very lazy writer when it comes to research, so don't expect any sort of realism around this hearing -_-'

She wasn’t sure what to expect.

In her mind she conjured up her memories from three years ago. She thought about sitting up on the witness stand beside a judge, doing her best not to look at Ransom while seething hate and revulsion burned across his skin and darkened his eyes. She wondered if she’d see Fran’s sister out in the audience again, her face empty of emotion, her eyes too tired to cry. She thought maybe Benoit would be there urging her on, reminding her that all she needed to do was tell the truth, then Ransom would be locked away, never to harm her again.

But that wasn’t what the parole hearing was like. Instead they were in a small conference room where Ransom sat across from her with chains around his wrists and ankles while a man in a bland suit, reviewed a thick folder from his seat at the end of the table.

“Today we will be hearing Hugh Ransom Drysdale’s case for parole,” said the man, his voice directed towards an old recorder on the table rather than at the victim and murderer who sat on the farther end of the table. “I, Louis Samson Fitzgerald, appointed Hearing Examiner of the Department of Justice, will be reviewing Mr. Drysdale’s case. Also present is one of the victims, Marta Liliana Cabrera. The other victim, Francine Eleanor Byrd, has one next of kin, a sister named Jacklyn Heather Byrd. Ms. Byrd declined to be present and left no statement to be included during the hearing.”

Mr. Fitzgerald ran a finger around his collar, pulling his tie out just a smidge as he cleared his throat. While he took a sip of water, Marta glanced over at Ransom, only to find him watching her with a silent, stony gaze — his expression unchanging since the moment he was brought into the room with an officer on each arm. However, once he noticed her lingering gaze, he cocked his head and his eyes narrowed as he looked her over. A slight shiver zipped over her skin and she rubbed her hands over her sweater clad arms before turning to face the examiner. Mr. Fitzgerald, however, continued to keep his attention on the folder and the recorder, almost oblivious to the other people in the room.

“On September 8, 2020, Mr. Drysdale was sentenced to six years in prison for the voluntary manslaughter of Ms. Byrd and the attempted murder of Ms. Cabrera. He was given the option of parole after three years. According to his files, Mr. Drysdale has been involved in sixty-three different altercations ranging from scuffles to an assault on an officer.”

“ _Sixty-three_?” Marta mouthed at Ransom, her shock overriding her fear. Ransom answered with a shrug.

Mr. Fitzgerald continued. “It is noted that only ten of those altercations were initiated by Mr. Drysdale, however, the one attack on a guard occurred only two weeks ago. Other than that, Mr. Drysdale’s file is a clean record of good behavior, noting that he does as asked without resistance, performs work assignments efficiently, and maintains decorum during specialized programming.”

Marta sighed, her fingers rubbing together as she chewed the inside of her lip. When will he get to me, she wondered. Every minute she spent waiting for her moment to speak was another minute for her to change her mind and take a step back from the ledge.

“Ms. Cabrera.”

“Yes,” said Marta with a bounce, uncertain how long Mr. Fitzgerald had been calling her name. She glanced over at Ransom whose lips twitched with a faint smile of amusement.

“The warden of this prison recommends that Mr. Drysdale wait another year to be offered parole due to his violent outbursts. However, I will not make that decision until you express your concerns about this man being allowed back outside these secure walls. What do you have to say on the matter?”

The examiner laced his fingers together, placing his joined hands on top of his folder before leaning in over the table. As for Ransom, he rolled his eyes towards the ceiling and leaned back into his chair.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, I wish…I hope to plead a case for…um…for Ran…Mr. Drysdale’s release.”

It was out. Her lungs felt empty, but it was out. She couldn’t take it back.

“All right, Ms. Cabrera, if you could…”

“Wait,” demanded Ransom, throwing out one of his shackled hands to pause Mr. Fitzgerald’s speech. “Wait to see if she vomits.”

“What?” asked the examiner with a raise of his brow.

“I’m not going to, Ransom.”

“Bull shit.”

“My stomach is fine.”

“There’s no way you want me out of here. I wasn’t lying when I said I would wreak hell upon your life.”

“Not really helping your case, Ransom.”

“Fuck this guy, I don’t give a shit about him, but I’m not willing to play your game.”

“Afraid you’ll lose again?”

Ransom readied a response with a snarl curling his lips, but his tongue was caught by the tired sigh of the surprising collected Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Mr. Drysdale,” said the examiner with an exhausted shake of his head, “it appears Ms. Cabrera is petitioning for your release on probation. Are you telling me that you would rather remain in prison?”

“No,” said Ransom, his word drawn out in a way that sounded natural to the unacquainted ear, but hinted at his uncertainty to someone as familiar as Marta. Perhaps realizing the slip of his tongue, the young Drysdale slid back into his chair, his muscles easing as his face shifted from suspicion into curiosity. “My apologies Louis, it’s just that this young woman is more cunning than she looks. If she wishes for my freedom then I have no reason to question her.”

“I should hope so,” huffed the examiner. “Ms. Cabrera, please continue.”

Marta sat there, watching Ransom, who returned her apprehension with a smirk on his thin lips. Prison had made him careless, but she saw the fire returning to his eyes now that freedom appeared to be in his grasp. She wondered what he would think once he realized she was going to swap his current prison for another.

“I think that it is clear that Mr. Drysdale, on his own is well behaved and working towards reform, however, the continued…um, exposure to other volatile men is hampering his growth, resulting in him lashing out as he is. It’s preventing him from healing.”

Ransom raised a single eyebrow at her testimony, but otherwise, didn’t interrupt her.

“If we truly want him to reform,” continued Marta, turning her attention to the examiner, “and become a valued member of society, then he needs to be removed from this environment and placed somewhere that is more calming and therapeutic.”

“And where exactly do you suggest, Ms. Cabrera?” asked Mr. Fitzgerald.

Again, the young woman looked at Ransom from the side of her eye, his deep blue gaze the endless abyss that awaited her from beyond the cliff she found herself on. Could she make the jump? And if she did, what was waiting for her at the bottom of Hugh Ransom Drysdale?

“I recommend you place him under house arrest,” said Marta, the words rushing from her before her tongue had a chance to stop them.

“House arrest?” barked Ransom with a laugh. “In what house? Linda sold my apartment and she sure isn’t going to let me stay with her. Richard’s probably living in a hotel or in some girlfriend’s apartment, and since you stole my house…”

“Harlan’s house,” Marta corrected. “Which was given to me by him.”

“You stole it,” he replied, leaning in as his eyes narrowed. “I don’t know how you did it, but somehow you turned the old man. I knew him better than anyone — even better than Linda. He wouldn’t just leave everything to you for no reason. You did something.”

“You’re right,” answered Marta with a raise of her chin. “And you’ll get to find out firsthand since I’m recommending you be under house arrest at my estate with me as your warden.”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, that’s certainly unorthodox, Ms. Cabrera. I’ll have to take some time to review your suggestion and confer with the commissioner…”

“As you wish, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said the wealthy nurse with a proud lilt to her words. “However, might I add that it would be beneficial to have a few of these cells empty considering the renovations this prison will be doing soon.”

“R-renovations?” asked a befuddled Mr. Fitzgerald.

“Oh yes,” said Marta, turning her fiery eyes on the examiner before placing her full attention upon Ransom, who was leaning back in his chair with a slight gape to his lips. “This morning I made a sizable donation to this facility with an express interest in improving the building as I was disappointed with the state of the visitation room when I came a couple weeks ago. However, if it appears you’d rather keep your cells full instead of using my generous contribution to improve the facility, then I suppose I will have to withdraw my donation.”

“Oh, I see,” answered the examiner. “I will certainly add that to my notes for the commissioner to review and take into consideration when he makes his decision.”

“I’m sure you will,” said Marta as she rose up from her chair. “Good day Mr. Fitzgerald and good luck with your last night in prison, Ransom. I’ll be seeing you very soon.” With that she walked towards the door, doing her best to conceal the shaking in her hands as she reached for the knob.


	4. The Next Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom leaves prison and returns to the Thrombey Mansion, where he learns the first rule of living in Marta's house...

Not much was waiting for Ransom Drysdale when he checked out of the penitentiary. He had his watch, wallet, cell phone, and the clothes he came in. At some point, he knew he’d have to reach out to his mother to see what exactly became of his possessions after she sold his apartment. However, he wouldn’t be surprised if she sold most of it and then burned the rest. She’d never been particularly mothering to him and the thought of retaining some of his belongings likely never even occurred to her. He’d only proven what she had always thought — that a child was just an obstacle in her career. The only reason she even allowed such a hurdle in her life was because Harlan had been eager for grandchildren. She wanted to make sure she provided him his first grandchild, but after that, her job was done. Nannies and boarding school could take care of the rest.

Ransom waited at the prison gate with a guard at his side. He didn’t care though, he was free from the dark, dank walls of his concrete cell and the early autumn air tasted sweet on his tongue. His time out in the yard didn’t allow him glimpses of the colored leaves or afford him the fresh scent of pine cones. Instead, he only managed to see a patch of sky while breathing in the noxious fumes of sweaty bodies throbbing with testosterone.

A grey SUV pulled up the drive and though it showed no signs of belonging to the police department, he still knew the two men inside the vehicle were a humorless detective and his idiot sidekick. It appeared Elliott and Wagner would be escorting him to his new jail cell that day.

“Get in.”

“No ‘Good Morning’ today, Lieutenant?” asked Ransom with a smug grin and a cock of his head. “No, ‘How are you? Did you enjoy prison?’”

“Good Morning, Mr. Drysdale,” replied Wagner with a smile. “It’s Captain Elliott and Sergeant Wagner now. How was prison?”

“Just cuff him, Wagner,” said Elliott in a flat tone, before walking over to the guard to sign the paperwork needed for the prisoner transfer.

“My pleasure,” the eager sergeant replied, before slapping on the manacles and adjusting them so the thick metal stopped just short of cutting into Ransom’s skin.

“Are these really necessary?” asked the young Drysdale as Wagner grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the car. Ransom shook out of the sergeant’s grip, flashing the officer a snarl before continuing on his own into the back seat.

“Until you get your new jewelry, it is absolutely necessary,” answered the captain as he finished with the documents and returned to his spot in the front passenger seat.

“Why would I do anything to jeopardize my new arrangement? I’m getting what I wanted — my house.”

“Except it’s not your house,” said Wagner as he started up the car and pulled out of the drive. “And you don’t have a penny to your name or any claim to Harlan’s publishing empire.”

_That’s what you think_ , thought Ransom as he leaned back into the seat and glanced out the window. _I’ve been funneling funds into an off shore account for years. I may not be able to access it yet, but that’s only a matter of time._

The quiet Massachusetts countryside scrolled by, the serene sway of the leaves ignorant of the anger and resentment brewing inside the walls of the jail tucked deep within the forest. Ransom glanced at the rear view mirror and caught his own placid, apathetic gaze. His mask was one of his finest tools, which he had been crafting for years. It convinced socialites and politicians at the country club to tell their every secret to him. It was what kept his parents from disowning him after every fresh controversy he found himself in came to light. It was what convinced Marta he was to be trusted. And it was what would get him everything that was rightfully his back. _Once I figure out what Marta’s game is_ , thought Ransom, _then I’ll see to it that I come out the victor._

He had spent the previous night sorting through the various motives and outcomes of Marta’s surprising decision. Did she want to take revenge into her own hands? Did she think he knew of some other hidden wealth that Harlan had stored away? Did she want to watch him suffer as he lived amidst everything that should have been his?

Whatever reason, he wasn’t going to give her the pleasure of seeing her plan to fruition. She’d already made a huge mistake by allowing him into his home, the one he knew like the back of his hand. Not only that, but she would be trapped with him in those walls, completely at his mercy.

He smiled at that thought. He would need to test the waters for the first couple of weeks to discern her true motives, but he already had a few action plans in his head, some of which were far more enjoyable than others. The easiest, and what he felt like was the most gratifying method of reclaiming what was his, was turning the quiet, innocent Marta into a hopelessly dependent mistress. She did, after all, provide him regular enjoyment whenever he needed release, so it would be a bonus if he could have her on her knees in real life.

“Welcome home, Mr. Drysdale,” said Wagner, his words shaking Ransom from his thoughts.

Captain Elliott gave Wagner an unamused glare from the side of his eye, before opening his door and stepping out into the drive to greet Marta Cabrera.

Ransom leaned toward the door so he could spot her from where she stood at the top of the steps. First, he saw her shoes, cream canvas slip ons that never should have been worn outside of the house. They did pair well with her loose linen pants that were a dark navy blue. The waist of her pants rose high upon her torso and was met by the flowing floral fabric of her blouse. She wore a long, thick coat to fight off the autumn chill, but that did little to help her collarbone and neck, which were left exposed by the lengthy V-neck of her blouse. The breeze played with her shirt’s collar and Ransom spied a hint of what lay beneath the fabric. He grit his teeth, reminding himself that his need for revenge was stronger than his urge to end his three years of celibacy. By the time Wagner opened the door, Ransom had collected himself and managed to keep his body from alerting anyone of the tantalizing thoughts that were teasing his brain.

“Ms. Cabrera,” said Elliott from his spot by the steps, his eyes keen upon Ransom, “it’s not too late to change your mind.”

“Actually, it is,” interjected the young Drysdale, “and if you want to find a way to nullify this decision, I’m sure my lawyer will be happy to speak with you.”

“What lawyer, Drysdale?” replied the captain with a tinge of pleasure in his voice. “You don’t have any money. I’d like to see you afford anyone other than a public defender to help you.”

“You underestimate Linda’s desire to never see my name in the news again. The state trying to backtrack on an agreed upon…”

“That’s enough,” said Marta with a sigh, her hand rising to massage her brow. “Captain Elliott, I appreciate your concern, but as I’ve told you before — I want to do this and I will do this. Please have some faith in me.”

“I have complete faith in you, Ms. Cabrera,” he said with a sincere look of admiration in his eyes, a look that had Ransom suddenly eager to get Elliott back in the car and away from Marta. However, just as that thought crossed Ransom’s mind, the captain turned back to face his prisoner. “It’s him that I don’t trust.”

“Well, that’s what the monitor is for and I have your alert buttons stowed around the house.”

_Thank you, Marta_ , thought Ransom. _Good to know the police have extra monitors in the house. Going to have to locate all of those at some point._

“Speaking of the anklet, I think it’s time we give Mr. Drysdale his new jewelry, Wagner.”

“On it,” replied the sergeant, who proceeded to strap a clunky block to Ransom’s left ankle. Once it was on, the cuffs were removed and Ransom was granted a measure of freedom.

“You can’t go past 250ft from the house,” explained Elliott. “We are tracking you with a GPS, so if you leave that range, we will get an alert and will come out here immediately.” He then turned to face Marta. “I would have him sleep out on the deck if I were you.”

“Thank you, Captain Elliott,” replied the heiress. “But, I’ve got this under control. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

For a moment all four of them stood where they were, watching each other with uneasy eyes. After a particularly cold wind blew by, Marta pulled her coat around her and looked to Ransom.

“Come on, I should show you where you’ll be sleeping.” She turned without another word and headed up for the door. Ransom followed.

“Are we really letting this happen?” asked Wagner in a hushed voice that was still not quiet enough to be missed in the silent space of the reclusive estate. “Is this really okay?”

“You heard her, Wagner,” replied his superior in his normal tone for all to hear, “she has this. Let’s just trust she’ll contact us when she needs us. For now, this is all we can do.”

Marta looked over her shoulder to watch the officers leave, while Ransom continued on, stepping into the house before Marta reached the top of the stairs. Once the SUV disappeared into the trees, Marta made her way inside.

“Well,” began Marta, her eyes unable to hold Ransom’s wandering gaze and her hands diving into her coat pockets to hide her shaking, “I suppose I should begin with what rules we will have…”

“What the fuck is this, Marta?” asked Ransom without further delay. “All the artwork, all the kitschy shit, all the dated furniture, all of it is still here in the exact same spot they were when the old man died. It’s been three years. I thought it would be covered in Peruvian stone animals or something by now.”

“I’m going to sidestep the rude implications of your statement for the moment purely because I’m baffled. Did one of you actually know where I’m from or was this a lucky guess?”

“Don’t change the subject, what kind of weird shit is this?” asked Ransom, grabbing her by the arm so he could drag her over to the library that had been a pivotal turning point in both of their lives. “Marta, you still have this fucking knife circle. No sensible person would keep this shit after it was used as a murder weapon.”

“They’re props,” said Marta after she pulled her arm out of his grip. “And Harlan loved this display.”

“Granddad is dead and all this is yours to do what you want with, yet you’ve kept it up like some sort of memorial.”

“I just…”

“What? Want to keep him alive in your own weird way? Is bringing me here part of your demented tribute to him? You realize I’m not him.” Ransom’s gaze, fiery and free, held Marta in place. He drew closer, trapping his prey within his shadow. He felt his muscles tense, the fabric of his shirt tugging against his frame which was far thicker than it had been three years ago. “You did say you’d show me firsthand what you did to my granddad.” His steely blue eyes left her wide gaze and drifted down to the soft skin peeking out from beneath her blouse. From this vantage point, he could see the curve of her breast and he felt the rising desire within him.

“I…I know you aren’t Harlan, Ransom. There was good in Harlan. With you, I’m…I’m still not sure.”

“You’re right, I’m not him, but I’m really not sure you believe that. Let me ask you something, Marta…” Ransom drew closer, his hand rising and his fingers trailing up her torso before stopping just below her bustline. Her breath hitched as Ransom’s thumb drew a line across her breast, his mouth watering when he detected the faint nub of an erect nipple pushing through the padding of Marta’s bra. He licked his lips and then turned his gaze back to her. “Would my granddad do this to you? And did you tremble the same way as you are now?”

“I…I told you…all of you. I didn’t…he didn’t…” Marta struggled with her words as Ransom’s exploratory thumb hooked the collar of her blouse and nudged it aside to reveal the shell pink bra hiding beneath it. She fought for air, her eyes darting between the continued progress of Ransom’s hand and his fierce gaze that entrapped her. Eventually, she shut her eyes completely and pulled whatever strength she had left to power her next words. “Cloak! Dagger!”

Before Ransom had a chance to recall his grandfather’s dogs, the two shepherds raced into the library, barking at the top of their lungs and lunging towards their old enemy. Ransom released his hold and fell back a few steps while Marta’s guard dogs took position between her and him.

“That’s not why he gave me the money,” continued Marta, her voice breathy, but her resolve firm, “and it was never something that was even considered. We were friends, and Ransom, he loved you. I brought you here because I owe it to Harlan to try to heal you and help you be the man he always wanted you to be.”

Taking a breath, she reached out and laid her hands on the backs of the two dogs. Her touch calmed them, but they remained by her side while Ransom struggled to catch his own breath.

“Now, back to what I was saying. There will be some rules. The first one is, you don’t touch me unless I say so. Understood?”

Ransom looked to the dogs and then back to Marta before giving her a nod.

“Alright then. Let me show you to the room and on the way, I’ll tell you the other rules I, and the dogs, expect you to follow.”

Ransom didn’t fight her. He got what he needed. He could tell Marta’s body reacted favorably to his touch and she had given him permission to proceed with his plan. All he had to do was make sure she asked him to touch her. Given how easily she folded at something as simple as that, Ransom felt confident he would have her begging for his attention in a matter of weeks, if not days.


	5. Need and Want

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta wakes up the next morning to find a shocking surprise awaiting her...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support! Y'all are awesome and I'm so glad you are enjoying the story thus far! Also, thank you for your patience. I wanted to post this last week, but I was on vacation and was busy with the family ;)

Marta struggled to sleep that night. For one, she not only willingly allowed the man who tried to murder her into her house, but she was also the one who specifically fought for that very thing to happen. She could take some consolation in the fact that Ransom was staying in a room at the other end of the hall, and that she had her two trusty guard dogs asleep at the foot of her bed, but then there was the other reason she couldn’t sleep — some part of her yearned for that intimacy that he teased in those first few minutes of their time together.

As 1am approached and she was still desperate to find rest, she glanced over at her nightstand and debated pulling out one of her toys to help release the longing that was surging through her body. However, she just couldn’t allow herself to even fantasize about a megalomaniac like Hugh Ransom Drysdale. She didn’t want to give him that pleasure, even if he would never actually know that she did. Still she refrained and as a result, he continued to take up more and more space in her head until finally exhaustion overtook her.

She then awoke to the sounds of drawers slamming.

“What?” she gasped, popping up from her sleep, her eyes wild as they fought their way out of a dream state and back into reality. She took a breath and looked around her. Cloak and Dagger weren’t in her room, which wasn’t surprising considering it was already past lunch and they would have had to exit through their doggy door to go relieve themselves on the lawn at some point during the morning. However, it also meant that she was left entirely alone in the house with a criminal that was ransacking the place by the sounds of it. Not that it particularly mattered if he decided to steal Harlan’s more expensive possessions, it wasn’t like he could run off with them.

Pulling a robe over her pajamas and stepping into her worn out pair of fuzzy rabbit slippers, Marta shuffled towards her bedroom door, peering out to see if Ransom lurked somewhere nearby before making her way into the hallway. Once she left the comfort of her room, she was able to hear Ransom’s muttered curses and violent assault on a dresser a few doors down. Doing the best she could, she padded towards the room she suspected her prisoner to be in, taking care not to step on the numerous squeaky floorboards that filled the old house. However, despite her detailed knowledge of the home, she still couldn’t miss ever creak in the floor and it only took the slightest whine in the wood to alert Ransom to her presence.

“About time you woke up,” he called from the room ahead of her. “Were you always this lazy or do you just enjoy the benefits of not having to work now that you have enough money for a lifetime?”

“I enjoy working, but I don’t enjoy sharing a house with a murderer,” replied Marta, her words firm, but soft spoken. She swallowed as she reached the partly closed door of a room that did not belong to Ransom. “Needless to say, it was a little hard to sleep with that hanging over me.”

“Well, you did this to yourself, so don’t complain to me about it. That being said, I slept better than I have for the past three years.”

Marta stepped forward, her hand light upon the door as she nudged it open. Though uncertain of what she might find waiting for her within, when she beheld the truth of Ransom’s afternoon exercises, she squeaked with surprise and turned away.

“Where are your clothes?!”

“I’d love to know the answer to that question too,” answered Ransom, who wore only a pair of tight briefs on his otherwise naked body. “We all had clothes stashed in this house for when we visited granddad. However, I can’t find any of my, my dad’s, or even,” he paused to shudder before continuing, “Walt’s clothes.”

“I returned everyone’s belongings,” said Marta, who sidestepped into the room, keeping her back to the wall and a hand over her eyes so that she wasn’t reminded of how sculpted Ransom’s back was or how tight and shapely his ass looked in his designer briefs. “Having their things here just gave your family a reason to come back to the house. So I returned everything.”

“Including my clothes.”

“Well, why didn’t you bring anything with you?”

“Uh, hello Marta,” said Ransom, his voice far closer to her than she expected. “I was in prison, if you don’t remember, and they don’t allow you to keep anything. You’re lucky I got to keep a few pairs of underwear that I had while I was locked up. Otherwise, you’d be enjoying the sight of all of me this afternoon.”

“What makes you think I’m enjoying…” In an act of defiance, Marta removed her hand so she could meet Ransom’s gaze, but when she did, she was surprised to find him only a foot away. At some point, Ransom had made his way over and placed his hand against the wall. His arm, just inches from her cheek, braced him while he leaned forward to get a better look at her dark, bewildered eyes. With that proximity, she could see the square cut of his jaw, rugged with stubble, and the thick muscles of his neck which reached down to his powerful shoulders and firm chest.

“Come on, Marta,” he said with a devious purr in his voice. Her eyes left their inspection of his abdominals and returned to his teasing blue gaze that complimented the mischievous curl of his full lips. “Don’t make me ask the question. Neither of us want you throwing up right now.”

“I…don’t know…” Part of her thought she had grown stronger in the past three years. All the lawsuits the Thrombeys had thrown at her. All the allegations the media conjectured about her inheritance. All the men that attempted to woo her in hopes of securing access to her new fortune. All of that had hardened her, she thought. She could stand up against the best of them, even Linda. But, yet, she was left speechless by Ransom. Was it the way the afternoon sun kissed Ransom’s skin? Was it the vicious intensity in the strength of his stare? Or was it the shadow of Harlan that graced his face, reminding her why she did this in the first place?

“Fine,” he said with a sigh, which eased his shoulders, drawing the two of them closer together and trapping Marta completely in his gaze. “Marta Cabrera, do you enjoy seeing my naked body? Did you like how I touched you yesterday? Do you want me to touch you again?”

“I need you to back away,” she answered, knowing full well that Ransom heard what he needed in her inability to directly respond to his questions, which only spurned him on. Raising his other hand to place against the wall on the opposite side of her head, he caged her in, trapping her between him and a hard place. Her heart raced, but she wasn’t sure if fear or desire fueled it.

“Need and want,” replied Ransom, whose face was now inches from hers, “are two very different things. Do you want me to back away? Or do you need me to so that you can keep pretending that you haven’t always longed to be touched by me?”

Marta swallowed before licking her lips and pressing her body against the wall in some vain attempt to create space between them. With their bodies so close together, heat built up and burned her skin. She began to sweat and her breath grew shallow. She wanted to tear her robe off just so her skin could breathe again, but she worried any movement might have her crumbling to the floor.

“I…want you to…” She felt the bile rising up in her throat, the anxiety of knowing how clear her lie would be churning her stomach. “You need to…I want…”

A buzzer pierced the crushing silence that had engulfed them and the sudden noise turned Ransom’s head and broke his hold on her. Taking the moment while she still had it, she bowed out from between his arms and scurried over to the door.

“That sounded like the dryer,” she said, her voice as jittery as her hands. “Did you wash your clothes?”

“You never answered my questions,” he replied.

“And I wont answer them, not until you are dressed.” She took a breath, her stance loosening as Ransom’s muscles eased in recognition that she escaped his trap — at least for the time being. Keeping her eyes somewhere just over his broad shoulder, Marta continued. “I expect you clothed and downstairs in the next hour. I’m going to have lunch and then you and I are going to do some online shopping so that we can get you a new wardrobe by tonight.”

“As you wish, mistress,” he answered.

A blush burned Marta’s cheeks as she gave Ransom’s body one last glance before escaping down the stairs and into the kitchen.


	6. Toolbox

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom discovers Marta has a couple of her own tricks up her sleeve...

“Are you going to take your turn, Ransom?” Marta watched him with a serene gaze despite the mild impatience in her voice. He just couldn’t believe it.

Twice now he managed to fluster her to the point of breaking and he felt certain just one more power play during his mandatory daily Go session would have been enough to see her crumble at his feet, but now he realized he had underestimated his opponent.

He placed down his stone and then returned to his quiet study of her relaxed posture and contented smile. Who knew she was capable of what he had just witnessed only twenty minutes earlier.

“You seem to be more thoughtful in your moves tonight,” said Marta, oblivious to his scrutiny. “Just one night outside of that prison and you’ve already settled. Not to say you’ve reached a point where you have a chance at beating me, but this is far more progress than I thought you’d have by now.” She placed her stone and looked up at him with a coy smile. Ransom’s breath rattled, her teasing grin encouraging him to recall the scene he witnessed through her partially opened bedroom door. He hid his thoughts by clearing his throat and then made his next move.

 _Does she know I saw her_ , he wondered as she placed down another stone. _No, I refuse to believe Marta Cabrera is do-gooder by day and an exhibitionist by night. Maybe she has some kinky shit she’s into that I’m not aware of, but I refuse to believe that’s one of them. She’s spent too long in this house alone and she must of forgotten about the necessity of closing her door during her little play sessions. Except she hasn’t been completely alone, there are the dogs…_

His grandfather’s dogs had always acted as an additional security measure since the mansion’s actual security was mediocre at best. Linda had insisted on the dogs since Harlan wouldn’t replace the ancient Mr. Proofroc who came with the house when Harlan purchased it in the eighties. Ransom, however, noticed that though seems seemed stuck in time inside the house, outside of it was a different story. Proofroc was gone and a proper perimeter had been established around the house, including a trained team to manage the gatehouse. He figured Marta would have kept the old man on as long as he wanted to be there, but Ransom knew his family likely forced her hand into getting better security. Which meant the dogs were more personal bodyguards than watchdogs at this point. They didn’t need to spend so much time out on the lawn when they could instead be always within arm’s reach of Marta.

 _However_ ,the young Drysdale pondered, _the dogs still need to take a piss every once and awhile. They have a dog door so Marta doesn’t necessarily need to let them outside. But, perhaps that’s why the door was open. There was no stopping her the way she was going so she wouldn’t have wanted a couple of whining dogs interrupting her._

“Ransom, the requirement is that you play, not just be present physically.”

“My apologies, mistress,” replied Ransom in a mocking tone as he placed another stone without much consideration of the board. She sighed as she assessed his move.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered before placing her next piece.

 _With pleasure_ , thought her prisoner. He much rather have her call him master instead. And next time he catches her sprawled out on her bed, calling his name, it will be because he told her to. Not that he didn’t enjoy the show she gave on her own accord.

They spent a long afternoon sitting very close to each other, picking out a full wardrobe for him online. After that, they had a tense dinner where Marta couldn’t eat her food fast enough. As they parted ways, Marta reminded him that their nightly Go game would be starting at 8pm sharp. She reiterated the time until he vocally acknowledged it and then she scurried up to her room with the dogs following close behind. At around 7:30, Ransom was shaken from his nap by the sound of the dogs lumbering down the stairs and out the door to do whatever it was they needed to do in the yard. With a groan, Ransom decided to make his way up to the study to see what state it was in since he had nothing better to do.

Given Marta’s insistence on the eight o’clock hour for their game, Ransom made sure to step over all the loose floorboards on his way so as not to alert Marta to his movements. At the time he figured it was because she didn’t want him rifling through the study without her there to keep an eye on him, but he figured she was just being paranoid. He wasn’t about to bite the hand that was feeding him after all.

He made his way along with ease, having spent many of his summers growing up inside the mansion. He knew every creak and squeak in the house, so it was no hardship to proceed as he did. However, along the way, he was struck by a sound that was a completely new. His whole body went stiff with anticipation when a purring moan came rolling out of Marta’s bedroom.

Ransom glanced down the hall and toward the stairs, but found it empty of any returning hounds. Taking a breath, he proceeded forward, his eyes set upon the slight gap in the doorway. Once he was close enough to hear Marta’s labored breathing and the rhythmic sound of wet on wet, he peered through the crack and found a full length mirror just within view. He bit his tongue to keep him from voicing his surprise when he found the full extent of Marta within the mirror’s reflection.

Propped up on her bed with her lower half bare and her skin glistening with sweat, Marta used one hand to run quick, steady circles around her clit while the other plunged a dildo deep inside her. She gasped with each thrust, her eyes fluttering and her chest heaving with exertion. She pumped to a furious beat, her wrist arching the pink silicone cock so that it pressed against all the right spots within her trembling body. Ransom felt his own cock rising to the challenge, eager to prove its superiority over the synthetic member, but Ransom knew better than to make his move in that moment. Barging in would break whatever meager trust she had in him and would only set his plans back. So instead, he took in one last mental picture of Marta as her knees pinched together, her thighs clamping around the dildo as her back arched and her body shuddered with release. The young Drysdale almost managed to turn around and retreat with his control intact, but when Marta cooled from her activities and sighed with contentment, she managed to add one more log to his flame.

“Oh, Ransom,” she whispered to her empty room.

At that point, he dashed into the nearby bathroom and made quick work of his engorged member. He cursed his three years of imprisonment and the damage it had done to his endurance. He knew he’d need to spend those quiet hours in his room gaining some self control before he’d be able to proceed on with his plan, but he also now knew that his plan was working.

“I win again,” said Marta with a wink.

“I will beat you,” he replied as he reviewed the board, realizing he had barely paid attention to the stones he had placed during his reflection of Marta’s surprising show.

“Not until you focus on the game instead of winning,” she answered as she swept the stones into the bag.

“We’ll see,” he answered, his eyes following her every move around the room. She clearly understood the game better than he had expected. Who would have thought little Marta Cabrera kept a dildo in her drawer? Not that that mattered. What did matter was that he now knew she had that in her arsenal and she wasn’t afraid to use it. So long as she kept using that to stave off whatever progress he made with winding up her spring, she had the advantage. But, what would happen if he kept her preoccupied all day so she couldn’t find release in the comforts of her room? What if he were to make the first move?

“Don’t worry, Ransom,” Marta said as she opened the door for him to leave, “there’s always tomorrow.”

“That there is,” he answered with his own mischievous smile. “That there is.”


	7. Everything and Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta discuss how everything and nothing has changed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a communications director in real life for an organization that has a lot of elderly members in it. This past week has been fucking terrible. I hope all of you who are in coronavirus danger zones are safe and healthy, and the rest of you, I hope it doesn't come knocking at your door.

Marta smiled as she swirled her warm oatmeal, mixing in the cinnamon and apple. A heavenly scent, laden with the spice of fall, rose up and tickled her nose. She loved this time of year. It was a time of change, a time when the world released its troubles in a flourish of color, a time to prepare for dormancy and solitude.

Not that she didn’t admire the beauty of spring and summer, but those months were full of energy and activity and she relished the quieter, more intimate times of the colder seasons. Of course, that was only when she had someone to share those autumn days with, otherwise the end of the year turned into chilling isolation. She took a bite of her breakfast as she watched Ransom shuffle into the kitchen. At least she knew this year would be different, even if her companion was a man that had tried to kill her.

“Is the oatmeal really that good?”

Marta blinked and turned to where Ransom stood by the cupboard. He watched her as he dug for his bowl and cereal. She tried not to laugh at his breakfast selection. She wouldn’t have pegged the snobbish prep as a man dedicated to his morning bowl of Cocoa Puffs, but when Marta had asked earlier in the week what kind of food he wanted stocked in the kitchen, his first demand was the sugary cereal.

“I like it,” she replied, as he took a seat across from her. “It makes me feel all warm inside.” She scooped up a chunk of apple before slipping the spoon in her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the soft texture of the apple within the crunchy caress of the oats. With a sigh she removed the silverware and opened her eyes to find Ransom watching her with a look of hunger in his blue gaze. She thought to offer him a bite, but he soon turned away to face his own bowl of cereal.

“I don’t like the mushy texture.”

“That explains why you wolf down your puffs so quickly ever morning. I prefer to enjoy my food. That being said, it’s probably because you’ve tried the wrong oats. Instant oats tend to be creamer, but mi madre has always used steel cut.”

“I didn’t figure oats were a Peruvian delicacy,” he mumbled in between bites.

“It isn’t, but she came to America with only her life intact when she fled the civil war. I have no idea who my father is, but she was pregnant with me by the time she got here. She was a single mom and an immigrant in the eighties, so she didn’t have the money to buy us the meats that often were eaten for breakfast in Peru. However, on special occasions she would make us picarones.”

“What’s that?” he asked with what appeared to be genuine interest in his eyes. He even put his spoon down for a moment, which Marta considered an accomplishment.

“Sweet potato donuts. They’re my favorite. We often would make them during the fall since sweet potatoes are cheap and abundant.” Marta paused and took another bite, as she looked into the oatmeal before her. “I haven’t had it in awhile though. Madre’s recipe makes a lot and it seems like a waste to just make them for myself.”

“Why by yourself? Where is your mother and sister?” There was no mocking in his voice as he asked his question. Instead, his brow raised with curiosity while his hands lifted the bowl to his lips so he could sip the chocolate milk that remained after his cereal.

 _Does he actually care?_ Wondered Marta. _Or is he just looking for information to use against me? Of course, what can he really do about it? He’s trapped here at this house, completely at my mercy. Other than being a bit handsy early on, he’s been so quiet the past few days. All he does is spend time in his room and I am tired of talking to the dogs…_

“My mother became a citizen about a year ago,” continued Marta with a shrug before eating another spoonful of oatmeal. “With that taken care, she had the freedom to travel as she likes without fear of immigration nabbing her. She’s been traveling a lot ever since and she left for Peru some months ago. She probably won’t be back until next year. She has a lot of family to catch up with and a lot of memories to relive.”

“Did you travel with her at all?”

“Yeah,” said Marta with a shrug, “whenever I felt up for it, I went.”

“Why didn’t you go with her to Peru then?”

“I have obligations here.”

“Like what?” asked Ransom with a laugh. “You have enough money to do whatever the fuck you want for the rest of your life. Certainly you don’t want to spend it sitting around here.” He glanced over the dining room, his gaze cataloging all the knick knacks that lined the walls. His face darkened with each memory of his grandfather that he came across. Not a single piece removed, not a single painting replaced.

“I…I’m chair of the publishing company…”

“Which is just an honorific title that brings in money and lets you make big decisions if need be,” he replied, pushing his bowl aside and leaning in by bracing his elbows on the table. “From what I can tell, you just go around tidying up an empty house and then read for the rest of the day. What are you actually doing with your life?”

Marta answered by grabbing another bite of her oatmeal.

“What about your sister? Where’s she? Is she living off your fortune and partying all day?”

“No, she’s taking her time at school and living with her boyfriend. She used to live with me, but…” Marta trailed off and glanced towards the regal portrait of Harlan hanging up in the foyer. “But, she felt claustrophobic here. She didn’t feel like she could spread her wings in the countryside.” She swallowed hard, chasing away the burn in her throat. _It wasn’t a lie_ , she told herself. _She really did hate the countryside and she definitely used the word ‘suffocating’ before she left._

“Uh-huh,” said Ransom as he leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. “Are you covering her rent?”

“No,” answered Marta truthfully. “I thought it would be better to buy them a condo in the city instead.”

“For fuck’s sake, Marta,” he groaned.

“What?” she asked with a flourish of her hands.

“Don’t turn into granddad. Stop paying your family’s way and start living life yourself.”

“Like you did?” Marta didn’t intend to have a defensive curve to her voice, but despite its presence, Ransom shrugged off her implied insult.

“Marta, if you were my little pet and I doted on you with bags of money, I expect you to do something with it and have a fucking fabulous life. If you just took my money and sat on it, I would be insulted. Granddad gave me the money of his own freewill and I did whatever I wanted to.”

“Which was eat, drink, and fuck,” she replied with an unconcealed roll of her eyes.

“You know, I’m discovering new sides of you every day,” he said with a proud smirk. “I would have thought you were a ‘make love’ only kind of girl.”

“One, I doubt you’ve ever _made love_ in your life and two, I am a woman, not a girl.”

“Believe it or not, I do actually recognize that. You are more a woman than I ever thought you were.”

Marta blushed, though she wasn’t sure what he said was a compliment.

“Anyway, my point is, he gave me a gift and I did something with it — whether you agree with what I did or not, I did something. Now you, you’ve been given everything and have done absolutely nothing.”

“I’ve done more than you know,” she retaliated, the warm blush on her cheeks turning into a fiery sizzle as her hands balled into fists. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried to rule a publishing empire. I’ve tried to continue on as a nurse. I’ve tried to be a socialite. Those aren’t me and I refuse to turn into something I’m not purely because I now have wealth that I never asked for.”

She felt breathless, her chest rising and falling with the heat of her emotions. After a moment of watching Ransom’s apathetic gaze, she sighed and turned away, releasing the tension that had left crescent shaped nail marks in the insides of her palms.

“Everything’s changed,” she whispered. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this burden of wealth. I didn’t want Harlan to die.”

“But, it happened,” answered Ransom in a voice that was oddly calming. It reminded her of his tone back in the restaurant — back when she believed he actually wanted to join her side and protect her from the chaos about to engulf her. She watched him from the tops of her eyes, watched how his lips hung loose and uncertain, how his hand reached up to massage his chin, how his piercing blue eyes turned to the window and watched the sway of the autumn leaves. He cleared his throat and continued. “It all happened. I know you won’t believe me — why would you considering our history — but I spent three years in a cell thinking about how this couldn’t be real. I fucked up. Don’t tell Walt that I ever admitted to this, but yeah I can kind of be a little shit sometimes. I blame granddad. You have to have an abundance of emotion to be a writer, I’m certain of it. I inherited that, but I also inherited my father’s lack of self control. At some point, I realized that the reason I was stuck in that cell was because I fucked up.”

He again turned to the window as his finger tapped the table. Marta raised her chin, though she wasn’t ready to look at him in full. He was right, she certainly didn’t trust that he felt anything like guilt or regret, she hoped for it, but she hadn’t gotten to a point where she believed it. Instead she was more interested in what he planned to gain by trying to sympathize with her. What was his ploy and how could she turn it into genuine emotion?

“That’s enough of that,” she finally said. “I think I’m going to go walk around the grounds with the dogs. I need some fresh air and it’s a lovely day. You’re welcome to join us, we can stay in the range of your monitor, but I’m sure you’ll want to spend time in your room again…”

“No, I think I’d like to join you,” said Ransom with surprising enthusiasm. “I’ve spent enough time working on myself in my room. Now it’s time to take things to the next level I think.”

“Good, I think so too,” replied Marta with a smile. They rose up and put their dishes away before grabbing the dogs and heading outside.


	8. Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ransom and Marta go on a little stroll...

Things were going well for Ransom.

He was outside, not wearing an orange jumper, and strolling next to the woman he had vowed revenge against. Even better, she had fallen into some sense of security around him. She let the dogs run ahead of them as she chatted away about planting a vegetable garden in the spring. Ransom wore a small smile as he wondered to himself. Had she forgotten his elaborate plan to frame her for the murder of Harlan Thrombey? Had she forgotten what it felt like when he held the knife against her breast? Because he certainly hadn’t.

He glanced over at the petite woman, gazing down at her chest which peeked out every now and again as her scarf swayed with her steps. He thought of how soft and round they were when his hand plunged a prop blade into her. He thought of how her body trembled beneath his, how small and fragile she felt. He thought about the strength in her gaze as she stared up at him with stubborn determination. He thought of all this as she continued discussing her desire to make homemade pasta sauce with her freshly grown vegetables.

Despite his thoughts drifting towards the finer details of the chest he had tried to pierce, he found nothing below the belt was rising to meet his yearning. He was ready to play the game and based on what he saw the week before, he was certain Marta was ready too. For a moment that morning though, he thought he’d have to wait another day given Marta’s fiery outburst during breakfast. He hadn’t expected that passion, or that pain. He also hadn’t expected his response. He hadn’t lied, though. Being stuck in a cage for three years means there’s a lot of time for thinking, a lot of time to be angry at those who made him the way he is and at himself for not overcoming it. Regret wasn’t necessarily something he felt, and he doubted he ever would feel that, but disappointment — that he knew well.

And he prepared himself for another disappointing day of waiting, but then she offered for him to come on a walk. A perfect opportunity to push those boundaries and set his plans in motion once he found an opening to make his move.

“Woah, watch your step.” Once Ransom saw his moment, he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders and to use his free hand to grab hers. He pulled her over, resting her weight against his chest and stopping her just in time from stepping directly into a pile of dog shit.

“What?” she mumbled, too lost in her one-sided conversation to notice Ransom willfully violating her first rule.

“You almost stepped in shit,” answered the young Drysdale, who kept her warm body against him, his arms instinctively drawing her closer when he realized just how small she was inside his grip.

“Oh, thank you. I have a service that comes and cleans it all up, but they won’t be here until…” She paused, her head bowing down to inspect the way his one arm had moved from her shoulder to across her collarbone, how her cheek brushed against the thick woolen sweater that guarded his firm chest, and how her fingers interlaced with his in his large hand.

He let her savor that moment before pulling away.

“Oh, sorry,” he replied, releasing her with little fanfare, snapping his heat away from her as quickly as it had come. Taking a step back, he watched her stand there as if she was still trapped in his arms, her body meek and desperate for the enclosure of his embrace. “I wasn’t thinking,” he continued, trying not to smirk as he assessed the success of his actions. “It was just instinctual to pull you away, but I know I’m not supposed to touch you. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” she said, her words breathy as her muscles uncoiled from the tense rigidity she had been standing in, “it’s okay. I understand and I appreciate your concern for me.” She turned to face him, her eyes unable to meet his as her hands ran up and down her arms as if she were suddenly very cold. “Um, that kind of touching is okay, I suppose.”

“Really?” Ransom asked, stepping forward, but keeping his distance. “You didn’t mind being held so close to me? Your heart was beating so hard, I could feel it reverberating against my chest.”

“Oh, um, it was…” She didn’t finish and instead swallowed down some bile that might have risen in her desire to lie.

Ransom took another step closer. Now she was just short of arms’ reach. He waited, his blue eyes watching her as she glanced up at his intense gaze. In the distance the dogs barked at a squirrel, but she didn’t even flinch. This time she was completely caught within his presence.

“Are you okay? You’re shivering. I can lend you my sweater, it’s big enough to fit over your coat.”

“That’s very kind of you, but maybe we should just go back inside…”

“No, we just started our walk,” Ransom replied as he peeled off the bulky burgundy knit that he had been wearing. “It’s nice to get some exercise after so much time inside the house.” He then, held the sweater over her head and when she didn’t fight back, he slipped the knit over her and hung it upon her shoulders. He smoothed the sweater down her frame, allowing the sleeves to hang loose by her sides. He then brought his hands up to her shoulders so that his thumbs could massage the fabric against the base of her neck, which in turn coaxed her chin to rise and meet his gaze. “Also, I’m really enjoying this walk with you. It’s nice to just…talk.”

“But,” she said, pausing to swallow, “I’m the one doing all the talking. I talk when I’m nervous. I feel like I’ve just been…”

“When you’re nervous?” asked Ransom, a devious twitch flickering on his lips, but only for a moment. “Is it because you’re afraid of me?” He didn’t step closer, but he leaned ever so slightly so his shadow covered her, concealing her from the soft morning soon that was slowly crawling up to it’s noontime throne.

“I…I’m…”

“Call the dogs back,” he said, his voice low and rolling with anticipation. “You saved me, Marta. You saved me from that Hell. A Hell I deserved, yet you came out of nowhere to save me when I didn’t deserve it — especially from you, especially after what I did.” He raised his hand, his fingers grazing the valley formed by her pert breasts. He touched the spot that should have been sliced open by the pierce of his blade. For a moment his fingers lingered.

He had intended to draw out the need and expectations within Marta by performing a melodramatic soliloquy and using an hesitant touch, but, instead, he actually found himself reflecting on that moment. He discovered a sense of gratitude that he hadn’t marred her olive skin. His brows knit together with confusion. He was glad Marta was here to play this game with him. He was relieved that he failed that day because what would his life look like now if he had succeeded. His failure was a second chance. A second chance at what he didn’t know, but in that moment, seeing her before him blanketed in his sweater and watching him with curious anticipation, he was glad to have lost their first game together.

“Sorry,” he sputtered, snapping his trembling hand back, determined to cut the tie that was connecting him to those thoughts and feelings. However, a force, small, but mighty, seized his hand and pulled him back. Marta took hold of him and brought his fingertips to her lips.

“Ransom,” she said, her words soft as she planted a few light kisses on his fingers, “some day you’ll understand that you are worth saving.”

Without another thought, he took hold of her jaw, drawing her lips up to his. His hunger brought him against her, hot and hard. His tongue searched her lips and then her mouth as she acquiesced to his advances. He wanted to savor the words that had graced those lips. He wanted to taste them, consume them, embody them. He didn’t understand how she could utter such nonsense, but he wanted to feel it the way she did. Perhaps if he took her into himself, he could pull those precious thoughts from her head and make them his own.

Marta raised her hands to his collarbone, sending them up and over his shoulders so she could support herself in their kiss. Ransom moved his own hands down her back, with one sliding all the way down to cup her ass and pull her up off the ground. Lifting her off her weakening knees, Ransom pressed her body against his and encouraged her to wrap her legs around his waist. He knew there was no way she couldn’t feel his erection pressing against the valley between her legs, but he didn’t care how much she knew of his hunger. The way she moved her kisses to his jawline, he had a feeling she might have been just as excited as she was.

Finding their current position precarious and still aware of the large pile of dog shit that was just a step away, Ransom located the closest tree and stumbled over until he had Marta’s back braced against the trunk. With her weight now balanced between the tree and her hold around his waist, his hands made quick work of pushing aside the already enlarged collar of the bulky sweater and undoing the scarf that had been blockading his view of her chest. Digging a hand into her shirt, he released one round breast from the hold of her bra and brought her erect nipple out into the open air. His mouth dove down, surrounding it with his lips as his teeth teased her soft skin. Her chest bounced as she gasped and her hands dug into his hair, pulling ever so slightly. With a growl curling in his throat, he advanced, sending his lips back to her breast, his tongue swirling around her skin and his teeth nipping.

One hand remained preoccupied with pulling her clothes down and off her shoulder to make way for his progress on her tantalizing tit, while the other hand slid down and in between them. There it found her hips grinding against his. His fingers grazed the seam of her jeans which rode tight and hard against her slit. It was difficult to tell through the thick denim just how aroused she was, but he was eager to find out. After a bit of struggling, he managed to free the button of her jeans and release her zipper. Sliding in, he found her underwear soaking with desire. He shuddered while Marta shouted his name.

“Ransom!”

“Fuck, Marta,” he murmured against her skin as his hand sought its way past the band of her panties.

“No, Ransom, your monitor,” she cried, her voice raspy as she fought back the wave of pleasure that coursed through her body. “I think we’ve gone out too far. The police…”

Ransom didn’t need to hear more. In fact, he couldn’t hear more once his ears honed in on the sound of the sirens piercing the quiet of the woods surrounding the drive.

“Fuck,” he growled, his body stiff with hesitation as he found himself caught between his need to see this through and his fear of what this might mean for his parole.

“Come on, we need to get you back to the house,” she said, her voice firm as she wriggled out of his grip.

And just like that, she was off the tree, her breast was back in place, and her pants were zipped.

“Come on,” she urged, taking steps toward the house and motioning for him to follow. “It’s okay, I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble.”

He glanced over at her as the sirens grew louder. She was still speaking those honeyed words. She was still trying to protect him even as he tried to consume her. Did she just play the game better than him? Or was she playing a different game completely?

He straightened himself out and followed after her, racing to the front steps to meet the police before they arrived.


	9. Wasps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marta is torn between shame, lust, and lies as Elliott and Wagner pay a visit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long. I'm sorry to everybody who has been reading. Quarantine with a full time job and a 4 year old is hard. But, I'm tired of just being tired all the time. I need creative outlets to shake away the news and the exhaustion. So I'm trying to get back into writing this. Thank you to everyone who has been following along and has returned after over a month between chapters! Sorry this chapter isn't really exciting. We're finishing the first arc of the story and moving to the next so there will be a couple of chapters to fill the gap until the next arc really gets going.

How was she supposed to make sure he didn’t get in trouble without lying and subsequently puking all over the poor officers coming to check up on Ransom? She could, of course, tell the truth, but she couldn’t even admit what just happened to herself, much less the police.

 _It’s fine_ , she thought as she raced to the front steps of the house. _I’ll just say we were on a walk — which we were — and that we lost track of where we were heading — which is also true._

Where were they heading, she wondered. She reflected on the abrupt ending to their walk and thought about how quickly they went from idle chitchat about her vegetable garden to Ransom’s mouth wrapped around her tit and his fingers brushing her clit through her soaking underwear. _What the hell was that_ , she asked herself.

“So how detail-oriented is your magic trick?” asked Ransom as they reached the front steps. He glanced up at her, his breath barely disrupted by the sprint that had left Marta winded. “Do you puke when you do half truths or are they going to need to know just how hard you were grinding on my cock to keep you from vomiting all over the stairs?”

 _Why does he have to say it like that?_ She squeaked with uncertainty while her thoughts screamed with panic. She wasn’t sure what was burning her cheeks more, the embarrassment of admitting what she had just done or the desire that still pulled at her core, yearning to feel him pressed against her, begging him to plunge inside her. I’m going to be sick whether I lie or not, she thought as her heart raced and her stomach boiled.

“Look I’m just trying to fuck with you,” he said in an attempt to be reassuring. However, he quickly followed it up with a devious smile. “In more ways than one.”

“This isn’t helping,” Marta growled, her stance uncomfortable as she tried to find a position where her painfully wet underwear wasn’t digging into her skin.

“Well, sorry, not all of us have a coping mechanism that causes us to puke during stressful situations. Instead, some of us use inappropriate humor when we have blue balls and the threat of prison looming over us.” He turned as the SUV pulled through the drive, stopping short of where they stood.

She looked down at him from her perch by the front door. His brown hair was mussed by the way her fingers had dug into his scalp. From the profile of his face she saw how plump his lips were from his exhaustive efforts to trace the circumference of her nipple with his tongue. As for his hands, she wondered if his fingers smelled of her lust.

Embarrassment and longing may have fought for control within her head, but her heart, at least, knew exactly what to do.

“You’re not going to prison, Ransom,” said Marta, her words firm. “Just let me handle this.”

“Whatever, you say warden.” He glanced over his shoulder and she met his gaze with a firm stance and a set jaw.

“Ms. Cabrera,” said Captain Elliott as he stepped out of the SUV that Wagner had driven, “I see our parolee is still on the premises.” He sidled over, stopping a few feet from Ransom, who watched the confident captain with arms crossed and brow furrowed. “What happened, Drysdale? Realize you didn’t have a shadow of a chance with making it through the woods and over the fence before we’d track your ass down. You are a dumber than I thought if you actually thought trying to run and risking your parole was a better idea than living in a mansion with someone like Ms. Cabrera. You won the prisoner lottery and this is what you do with it?”

“There’s a lot of things I’d like to do with it, but throwing myself back into prison isn’t one of them.”

“Oh yeah,” said Wagner, who had taken up beside Elliott, “then why do our monitors show you made a run for the edge of the woods? And before you blame it on faulty technology, you’ll be happy to know we spared no expense when it came to selecting your jewelry.”

“We were on a walk,” Marta blurted out before Ransom took it upon himself to answer the detectives. Everyone turned from where they stood in the driveway and let their gaze fall on Marta. She looked them over, finding each with a different expression on their face — Elliott concerned, Wagner uncertain, and Ransom curious. Despite their differences, all of them were eager to hear what she had to say. “We were on a walk and we lost track of where we were going, which is why we went past the designated area.”

“Ms. Cabrera, you don’t have to cover for him,” said Elliott with a sigh. “We know he wasn’t just on a walk. He’s tricky, if he…”

“How do you know that?” she asked in return, her voice shaky, but her stomach at ease. She hadn’t lied and she hadn’t particularly stretched the truth either.

“Like I said,” answered Wagner after sharing a look with Elliott, “he made a run for the perimeter. He was walking around the house, but then made a sharp deviation at an accelerated rate. The GPS shows all of this.”

“Hmm,” replied her inmate as he massaged his chin. She could see the challenge in his eyes, daring her to tell the truth. If she wasn’t, he was.

“Okay,” sighed Marta, who turned her face to the ground before taking a deep breath. “I didn’t want to admit to this. I’m a bit ashamed.”

“It’s okay, Ms. Cabrera,” replied Elliott, his words uneasy, though he tried to offer comfort. “We’re here to help you, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Not even this guy,” added Wagner, nodding towards Ransom. “He can’t make a move. If you’re trying to protect yourself from Drysdale, we can have him cuffed and tossed into the car in a second.”

“No,” whispered Marta, who balled her hands into fists and lifted her eyes to meet theirs, “it was Ransom that was protecting me.”

“From what?” asked Elliott with a hesitant drawl to his words.

“From wasps.”

“Wasps?” asked the two officers in chorus with one another. Ransom looked like he almost joined them, but knew better than to utter his surprise. Instead, he pinched his lips and watched her with an amused and expectant grin on his face.

“Yes,” she replied with a swallow, “wasps. We have the kind that nest in the ground and I happened to step on the nest during our walk. Ransom noticed right away and he pulled me in whatever direction we were pointed which just happened to be in the woods. We waited there to see if the wasps would follow, that’s when we realized that we had gone out of bounds. We hurried back to the front of the house and thankfully no wasps followed.”

“Like yellow jackets?” asked Wagner.

“Maybe, I don’t know,” said Marta as she wrapped her arms around herself. “A bug that stings. Whatever it was, it was terrifying and Ransom saved me.”

“Hear that, I’m her savior,” said Ransom with a gleeful smirk. “You going to send me back to prison for making sure she wasn’t swarmed by wasps?”

“Wait,” said Wagner, his eyes watching Marta with intense scrutiny. “We’re going to wait for you to puke, Ms. Cabrera. It’s for your own safety.”

“Sergeant Wagner, I have these ground wasps. I have the records to show it. I hired an exterminator during the summer, but these bugs are tricky and considering how large the yard is, it’s not surprising a couple nests might have been missed. If you would like me to go get my receipt I can, but I’m not taking you back to the nest, I’m not looking to get stung today.”

“No,” said Elliott, throwing a hand out to stop Wagner from following through on Marta’s offer. He gave his subordinate a look that sent the Sergeant back to the car. “No, we believe you. Like I said, Drysdale would have to be really dumb to think he could run like that and as much as it pains me to say it, this asshole is smarter than the average criminal.”

“Thank you,” said Ransom with a mocking smile.

“You wipe that grin from your face,” commanded Elliott with a stab of his finger. “I’m still reporting this to your parole officer. You won’t be heading back to jail yet, but you aren’t getting that monitor off any time soon.”

“That’s fine, I don’t plan to go anywhere anyway.”

Elliott responded with a dismissive huff while Wagner returned with a stack of papers, which is handed over to a stiff Marta.

“Your guards asked if we could take your mail up to you.”

“Thank you,” she answered, her words raspy and her smile slim. “I’ll just take these inside, that is if we’re done here. Ransom hasn’t broken any rules and everything he’s done has been with my blessing.”

She caught the questioning raise of Ransom’s brow, but she wasn’t about to linger around to answer his reaction. Instead she turned for the door with mail in hand.

“No, we’re done,” said the captain with begrudging acceptance. “Remember, we’re only a call a way if you need anything.”

“I just need to get inside…away from wasps.”

“Have a good day, Ms. Cabrera!” cheered Wagner as they both headed to their car. Marta, however, didn’t stick around to wave goodbye. She opened the door and stepped in as calmly as she could. She heard Ransom climbing the steps behind her and then she heard the dead bolt click into place as her captive shut the world away.

“Wasps, huh?” asked the young Drysdale as he glanced out the window and watched the taillights of the SUV disappear into the tree line. “I take it you really did have wasps at some point. How else could you…” But Ransom’s words were cut off when Marta thrust the mail into his hands.

“Oh,” he muttered as he looked down at the pile before him, “looks like you’ve been invited to the Cornucopia Ball.”

Marta answered him with the sound of her retching into the front hall toilet.


End file.
